Thursday, 29 September 2011

“It really is scary... y'know... the way things are goin'?” He said, his voice rising slightly on the last word, more a question than a statement.

I looked across the table at Tom, it was seven thirty in the morning, the first coffee of the day had barely started buzzing my brain, I had to be at work in an hour, I didn't want to listen about the world's problems.

“I'm not scared.” I said to him, “I have too much crap on my own plate to think about, unpaid bills crap, work crap, busted car crap, ex-wife crap, and oh yeah, more unpaid bills crap.”

“But just look at the situation,” He persisted, “most of Europe is paralysed with riots, unemployment is the highest it's ever been, there's massive military build-up on the India-Pakistan border, there was a facebook leak that Israel have gone to red alert, the new Iranian government has thrown out the UN inspectors, the Chinese and American economies are both on the brink of bankruptcy. I think we're heading towards total global meltdown.”

I propped my elbows on the table, let my face fall into my hands and let loose a long heartfelt sigh, after a few seconds I stood and walked out of the back door and up to the shed, opened the door and started pulling things out.

Tom walked up and stood beside me, a bemused look on his face. “What're you doin'?” He said.

“Given the circumstances,” I replied, “I'm doing the best thing I can do.”

“What's that? Getting the spade to start diggin' a shelter?”

I found the item I was looking for. “ No,” I said, dragging the rod out. “I'm going fishing.”

Author's note:-Hi everyone, I'm going away for a couple of days, yup, you guessed it, I'm going fishing, so I'll be catching up with the reading and commenting sometime on Sunday. Have a great weekend, and thank you for reading.

Friday, 23 September 2011

The shock had set in now, and was doing a good job of numbing the pain, the first thoughts in his mind when the teeth snapped onto his ankle weren't of pain or fear, but to roundly curse his own stupid clumsiness for stepping into his own beartrap.

If he could get the damn thing off, or pull the stake from the ground he'd be able to make it back to the house and use the phone. No go. No amount of pushing or pulling achieved either, he just didn't have the strength left.

For several nights the creature had visited his farm, tearing his stock to pieces, he hadn't managed to spot the cursed thing yet, but there was no mistaking the snarling bark that echoed around the nearby woods throughout the dark hours.

At first he thought it must be a cougar or wolf, but the tracks had told the story of a beast that walked on two legs not four, and no animal he had ever known would tear the animals limb from limb like that.

He tore a ribbon of cloth from his shirt and fashioned a tourniquet tightly around his leg a few inches above the steel, then considered his next move.

His rifle was propped against a nearby tree trunk, so close and yet unreachable, rendering it useless as either a means of defence or signal.

Shouting and screaming had brought no-one, his farm was far from anywhere, and people coming this way were few and far between.

He was still there when the sun went down, as the daylight began to fade, and dusk started to creep over the woods he heard it.....

The first snarl came from a long way off, probably from partway up the mountainside, he listened in abject terror as the sound echoed around the hills.

The second time he heard it he was pretty sure it came from the foothills at the base of the mountain, panic started setting in....

He eyed the strip of white skin between the steel and cloth....

The snarl came again, louder... closer...

All reasoning lost now, he pulled the large, razor-sharp hunting knife from its sheath and began hacking feverishly at his leg....

Friday, 16 September 2011

Author's note :-Hi everyone, this week is my first anniversary of posting on #fridayflash, a year in which I have had so much enjoyment being part of the #fridayflash community. The reading, writing, posting and receiving comments, and of course the banter. Thank you to everyone for visiting, and taking the time to check out my stories over the past year.

My debut story on #fridayflash was posted on 17th of September 2010, and was entitled “A Zombie's tale” And so to mark the milestone I decided to write “Zurvivor (A Zombie's tale Part 2)"

Anyone wishing to read the first part of the story can find it here :-

I didn't feel any guilt at deciding to save my own skin, I mean, no-one else was going to do it for me were they?

I had done my share of the fighting, pretty much a losing battle from the start. We never really got on top of the situation. Always retreating, room by room, corridor by corridor, our numbers dwindling as the enemies' grew.

When it first started we were taken by surprise, many of the castle's residents had been partying the night before, and by the time they had half-awoken in their hangover fug it had already been too late for them, and so even before any sort of defence could be initiated the zombies' numbers had already risen rapidly, as they continued to do so over the first few hours.

Six days later... and what small groups of humans were left were holed up in various rooms scattered around the castle, barricaded in, mostly with very little food or water, very little if any ammunition left, very little hope left too for that matter.

The zombie horde shambling around the corridors, or battering at the barricades must number well over three hundred by now. Pretty much a grim situation.

Four of us had fought our retreat down a stone stairway, pushed backwards by the sheer weight of numbers. By the time I reached the heavy door at the bottom I was the only one left, the only one that could be classed as human anyway.

I slammed the door shut behind me and slid the thick steel bolt into place, then continued down another flight of steps into what I discovered to be a sprawling dungeon converted into several storerooms.

It would seem fortune smiled on me this day, or smirked on me maybe, time would tell.

Investigating my surroundings I discovered crates of tinned meat and fish, bottled water and cola, dried fruit, cartons of crisps, enough to feed me for months.

Further investigation turned up a veritable treasure trove of useful items. Blankets, candles, cutlery, just about everything I would need to sit out a long siege. But unfortunately, no weapons or ammunition.

Bumps and thuds came from the top of the stairs, no worry, that door would hold.

I sat on a crate of tinned fruit, and reviewed the events of the past few days.

No-one knew for sure how the zombies had got into the castle, the walls were too high for them to scale, and the massive doors were still intact and braced.

I heard a rumour that the teenager and his parents who lived over at the east wing were the first victims, and that it had spread from there.

That kid was one weird piece of work, he had a way of looking at you, with a strange smile on his face, as though he knew something that you didn't, and he was smug enough to want to blurt it out but smart enough not to. I wouldn't even be surprised if he had let the virus in on purpose as some kind of psychotic joke.

The only thing I could do now was wait, eventually the zombies currently clawing at the dungeon door may die of starvation, although I didn't hold out much hope for that, or they may be distracted by other survivors, or wander off in search of easier prey.

There was only one way out of here, and that was back up the steps and through the door I came in. I was well supplied, and had nothing but time on my hands...

So I guess I'll just wait...

I removed the revolver from my waistband and checked the load, I was surprised to discover there was still one live round left...

Friday, 9 September 2011

When the question was asked of me I was unemployed, I was deeply in debt, I was living alone, I had no immediate family, I had no close friends, I owned very little in the way of material things. No-one cared for me, and in return, I cared for no-one.

What could possibly be asked of me that would hurt anyone or anything that I cared about?

So I accepted.

As I sit here sipping champagne on the foredeck of my yacht, with a warm mediterranean breeze gently tousling my hair, I cast my mind back over events of the last two years.The exotic places I have visited, the exciting things I have done, the rich and famous people I have met, the sheer amount of money I have spent.

I look around at the luxurious trappings that surround me, at the beautiful vista, at the clear blue sunlit sky...

And once again, like a lightning strike, the guilt and shame punches into me...

The absolute horror of what I have done hits me again and again and again, like hammer blows.

The champagne leaves a bitter, sour taste on my tongue, the riches and possessions have brought no pleasure to my life, no happiness, no satisfaction.

All I have seen... all I have done... all seem a worthless waste.

The truth of the words “When you sup with the devil, use a long spoon.” Haunts my thoughts.

There has not been one single solitary day over those two years when I haven't wished that I could turn back the clock to the time before I said yes.

Friday, 2 September 2011

My drinking and other vices were becoming increasingly expensive, and my meagre unemployment benefit just didn't stretch to pay for them, so like any self-respecting person, I looked for a way to generate a second income to keep my pleasures supplied.

A career in burglary suited me right down to the ground. The hours were minimal, the pay was usually good, and there was no overheads and no nagging bosses on my case.

One afternoon I broke into what I thought would be an unoccupied premises, as I prowled from room to room I came across a partly open door, and could hear slight movements coming from within, I turned to sneak away but some kind of irresistible force seemed to grip me and draw me involuntarily to the doorway.

I took a peek inside and saw a semicircle of chairs, most of them occupied, by men and women of varying ages.

Seemingly from nowhere a hand gently grasped my arm and ushered me inside, the owner of the hand was a stunningly beautiful redhead, with the strangest brown eyes I have ever seen, I swear I could see flames dancing in them.

“Sit down, sit down, we'll be starting in just a few moments.”

Her voice was rich, and sweet-sounding, images of drizzling honey filled my thoughts.

I sat down nervously, hoping to sneak out after whatever was about to start, had started.

A minute or two later a fat, balding man, with a bright red nose stood up...

“My name is Tom, and I am an alcoholic........”

“Oh dung in a bucket, this is all I need.” I thought, and stood to leave.

“Please... sit down,” said the redhead, “you're among friends here.”

Images of sweet, sweet honey drizzled into my brain again.

“No...” I stammered, “I really don't belong here.”

The honey began to crystallize, to harden... to splinter and crack...

“Oh, I think you do.” She said, and her fiery stare burned into the depths of my soul. “NOW.... SIT.... DOWN.”

And that my friends, is the story of how I took the first step on the road to becoming teetotal.

Welcome to The Twisted Quill

On here you will find my flash-fiction. Short stories of 1,000 words or less. Ranging in genre from Sci/fi - Horror - Humour - Crime - Slice of life - and occasionally, Gross+Grisly. All comments received are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading.